


reminds me of you

by sceptical



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Wishful Thinking, for the time being anyway, post 1x04, with just a touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2525975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sceptical/pseuds/sceptical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor's been in a bad mood all week and needs to find a release. Only everyone reminds him of a certain cute IT guy he's not boyfriends with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reminds me of you

**Author's Note:**

> Had to get this one out before the next episode airs and kills all my dreams.

Connor was having a shitty week. His second shitty week in a row, in fact. His mood had steadily deteriorated, since closing the insider trading case, from being merely snarky and distracted to downright black and brooding. His comebacks became slower and less witty than usual and he had eventually resorted to scathing comments and/or dark glares from across the room. At one point last week he started to call Wes 'Waitlist' again. But now it was starting to affect his work; he had barely contributed to this latest case, probably running last place for the trophy, and his colleagues were starting to notice. Laurel and Wes regarded him with both annoyance and concern, Michaela just looked smug and Asher had clapped him on the shoulder and told him to “chill” and “get laid”. Even Bonnie and Frank exchanged glances over a few of his remarks. The only person who didn’t notice (or perhaps care) was Annelise.

The tipping point occurred one evening as everyone was packing up and leaving the house. Connor was organising his notes as Wes hovered hesitantly before finally speaking up:

“Hey, Connor.”

Connor barely spared him a glance. “What.”

“Are – are you okay?”

He looked at Wes as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. “What?”

Connor grated his teeth as Wes hesitated again. “You just seem a bit… not yourself.”

“Waitlist, we’re not friends." He swung his bag over his shoulder. "Don’t ask me that again.”

“Right.” Wes just nodded and sort of smiled, “Okay.”

“What an asshole,” he muttered to himself as he pushed past.

He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He looked slightly more dishevelled than usual, he grudgingly admitted. And there was slight shadowing under the eyes, but so what? This was a tough case.

He just needed a release. For once he decided to take Asher’s advice.

 

* * *

 

“Hey.”

Connor looks up from his drink, “Hey.” His smile is a practiced one: slow, sexy and lethal.

The guy smiles back, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Connor knocks back the rest of his glass, “Sure.”

He's dressed well and has really nice blue eyes, and the flirting and small talk is all going well until:

“So, Connor, what do you do?”

“Investment banking, “ he lies easily as he takes another sip, “What about you?”

“I work in advertising.”

Connor doesn't visibly blanch but it's a near thing.

 

* * *

 

An hour later Connor is well on his way to being properly drunk and is still very alone. _This place blows_ , he thinks to himself with disgust and stalks/stumbles out.

The crisp outside air cools his flushed cheeks and clears away the smell of cologne and…

Is that… “Oliver?”

Standing by himself, outside, with his hands in his pockets, the man responsible for the shittiness of the last two weeks (okay, that's not completely true) turns to the sound of his voice.

“Connor?” He doesn't sound pleased.

“It _is_ you.” He's sober enough to notice that Oliver's wearing one of his better-fitting suits.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was trying to pick up some guys in there,” he waves vaguely in the general direction of the club, “but it sucks.”

“Oh, okay.” Oliver shifts like he's about to leave.

“What about you?”

“Taking a break from my co-workers." Oliver indicates to the restaurant bar they're standing in front of, "They keep trying to set me up with random strangers.”

Connor steps forward and grips Oliver’s shoulders. “ _No_ , don’t do that.”

“What? Ugh,” Oliver turns his face away when he gets a face full of Connor’s breath. “What are you doing?”

“ _Don’t_ hook up with some random guy.”

“Wh – _What?_ ” Oliver splutters in disbelief and steps back from Connor's grasp, “You can’t just… That’s exactly what you were…” A million rational, logical reasons and arguments explode in his brain that he can't properly formulate a single one.

The corner of Connor's mouth lifts up to a grin, “You’re cute when you stammer, did you know that?”

Oliver's breath comes out in visible puffs of air between them. His heart races with a combination of temper and Connor's proximity. There are so many things he wants to say, things he's rehearsed in his mind for this moment, but instead he just stares at the other man. “You’re drunk.”

“Probably. All these guys in there were buying me drinks…”

It's like a physical blow; Oliver closes his eyes and says bitterly, “Good for you.”

“… But I didn’t want any of them,” Connor continues. “Because they all reminded me of you.”

Oliver's eyes open and his heart rate picks up for a different reason altogether.

“I turned down two guys on the spot because they had glasses that were kind of like yours. And this other one had your tie. And there was a douche who worked in advertising." Connor leans in conspiratorially, "The _marketing department._ ” His nose wrinkles in disdain. “You told me what a bunch of assholes they are.”

Oliver grits his teeth and clenches his jaw from saying something stupid, like _forgiving him._

“So basically," Connor holds out his arms as if he's concluding a grand performance, "You’ve ruined every guy for me.”

Oliver heaves a sigh, his rage dissipates and he's suddenly very tired.

"Oliver?"

“Let’s get you home.”

“Good idea. But I think your place it closer?” Connor's face, the crest of his nose and cheeks flushed pink with alcohol, is very close to his.

“What? No, _no._ ” He steps away from the curb and searches the oncoming cars, _“_ Your place. _Alone._ ”

 

* * *

 

In his own bed at the end of the night Oliver congratulates himself on a job well done; he managed to simultaneously put Connor in the cab while fighting off his advances _and_ recite his address to the driver. Also, he managed to resist every fibre in his body that wanted to just give in, slide into the cab beside Connor and be with him forever.

He's now 100% sure he's in love with Connor (before tonight it was 99%) and that just makes him the biggest idiot in the world. He tells himself loudly what everyone's told him: _You can do better. You_ deserve _better._

 

But there's a tiny traitorous voice that whispers, _What if you can't?_

 

* * *

 

The next morning Oliver opens the door, his face determinedly grim and uninviting. Last night's sleep had been restless at best so he had woken up in a pretty bleak mood. And even though he had spent the last few hours steeling himself against the man, his heart still skipped a beat when he saw Connor. _Stupid, unreliable heart._

“Hi." He manages to look sheepish, sincere, and just a touch flirtatious, all at once. "I’m really sorry for last night.”

It is supremely unfair that despite a night of almost-drunken stupor, Connor still managed to look like a GQ model this early in the morning.

“What do you want?”

“Just to apologize. Coffee?” Connor holds out the takeaway cup, “It’s sweet and syrupy, just how you like it.”

Oliver's unsmiling expression doesn't move, but it isn't in his nature to be rude, so he takes it. But he doesn't drink.

“Thanks. Anything else?”

Connor doesn't seem deterred. “I just want to say I’m really sorry for all the things I said. They were all true, but it was unfair and out of line. It wasn’t my business.”

Oliver gives one short nod of acceptance. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Can I take you to dinner? We never got to do that.”

Oliver has to breathe and remember all the things he told himself last night. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please. To make it up to you.”

Oliver shakes his head. “We can’t go back to the way we were.”

“That’s not what I want,” Connor says quickly.

“And,” Oliver continues, “We can’t be friends.”

“But I don’t want to be just _friends_ with you either.”

Oliver looks at him through slightly narrowed eyes. “Then what _do_ you want?”

Connor swallows. This was a lot easier to say in his head. “I like you – _really_ like you. And I’d like to give this – _us_ – a shot.” Oliver can't know that this is more emotion than Connor had cared to admit to _anyone_ in a very long time.

Oliver can feel his steel resolve bending. He actually believes Connor and that now makes him the most naive idiot in the world.

“Just one date. One chance to change your mind.” Connor's heart drums in his chest and he feels vaguely ill. He has never begged like this for anything in his life. It is not a comfortable feeling. “I want to be… a couple.”

Oliver’s laugh is brief and humorless, “You can barely say it out loud.”

“Look!” Connor picks up the plastic bag at his feet, suddenly remembering it, “I brought all these grocery things on the way here. Breakfast stuff. I thought we could… Make breakfast. That’s a couple thing, right?” He looks wide-eyed and almost frantic, so opposite from the confident, suave Connor that picked him up the first night.

“We can’t just…" Oliver can't quite remember his carefully constructed reasoning. "That’s not how relationships work.”

“Then show me. Because honestly, I have no idea. I'll never ask you to hack a thing again,” he offers.

“That's not the point." Oliver sighs,  "You have some issues, Connor.”

“What do you mean?” He asks warily.

Oliver gives a one-shoulder shrug. “Just issues.”

“Like what? Tell me.”

Oliver suddenly looks uncomfortable when he remembers where they are. “I don’t think you want to have this conversation.”

“No, I really do.”

"You're just going to get defensive," Oliver warns.

"Just tell me."

On one hand his neighbors could be hearing everything... But on the other, Oliver just knows if he lets Connor inside he'll be letting him back in his life and nothing will have changed.

“Okay… Well, there’s that thing where you use sex as a tool.”

“What?” The plastic bag slips from his grip. Connor looks at him like he’s lost his mind and crosses his arms. “That’s ridiculous, I do not.”

“Yes, you do. You-”

“ _No_ , I have sex because I _like_ it. Because I want to.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Oliver says, in an annoyingly patient tone, “But you also use it to get what you want. Like those emails the night we met and all that other hacking I did. Also, that recording…”

“It’s not like that,” Connor says very quickly. He hates that recording.

“I just want you to know that I didn’t give you those emails or hack all those times because of sex." Oliver's smile is wry and self-deprecating, "I did all those things because I _actually_ like you-“

Connor winces at the emphasis but hope seizes in his chest.

"You don't need to do that all the time." Oliver continues, "I would've done all those things for you anyway, without the 'rewards'".

Connor's heart is suddenly lodged in his throat, which doesn’t matter anyway because he doesn't know what to say. He tries to draw closer to Oliver who puts a hand out top stop him. “Wait, let me get this out. I was really angry with you but I was really angry at me, too. I’ve been called a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. I went into this…” he waves at the space between them, “ _thing_ knowing how you are and I let my guard down.”

“Oh, God," Connor says hoarsely, "Oli-”

But Oliver just shakes his head again, “Don’t get me wrong. This was still all your fault. But you’ve never told me any different, and honestly I should’ve seen it. I mean, given that thing with your parents, and Michaela’s fiancé… I should’ve seen it.”

That stuns Connor back into silence. When had he told Oliver about those things?

He's not sure what to say so he settles on, “Um, my parents?”

“Well, yeah." Oliver shifts self-consciously, "It’s no wonder you don’t have boyfriends or - or long-term relationships. They haven’t exactly set a prime example.”

“Right. Did you get a psych degree since I last saw you?”

Oliver rolls his eyes but his lips quirk. “I don’t need a degree to tell me all that, Connor. You’re a walking cliché.”

“Hey.” Something flickers at the back of his mind. “Wait, did you say you like me?”

“ _No_ ," Oliver says so forcefully it must be false. "I _liked_ you. I realize now, of course, that you are a complete dick.”

His tone was deadpan but Connor caught the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth.

Connor's chest feels so tight he can't breathe. “Nah, you knew that the first night we met.”

Oliver’s lips twitched again. “That much is true.” It’s the closest thing he’s seen to Oliver’s wide, guileless smile in weeks.

He leans in.

Oliver slaps a firm hand to his chest. “Hold on. I haven’t forgiven you.”

He can feel the heat of Oliver’s palm through his shirt and wonders if Oliver can feel his heart. “Of course not."

“You still haven’t properly apologized.”

“I said I was sorry.”

Oliver gives him a pointed look.

“You’re right." He takes a breath and looks Oliver squarely in the eye. "Oliver, I was a complete ass. I am so sorry.” He struggles to swallow. “Please forgive me. Please, I’ll do anything.”

Oliver breaks eye contact. Eternity ticks by for Connor while he watches Oliver stare somewhere to the floor on his left.

Inside, Oliver's mind is racing. He is either the most naive idiot in the world... or the happiest. And in that moment he decides: it doesn't matter; it doesn't matter if Connor loves him or not because Oliver loves him enough for the both of them to try.

He finally looks up. “Okay.”

Connor’s whole body sags with relief. “Oh, thank God.” And tries lean in again only Oliver's hand won't budge.

“ _But_ you have to make me breakfast first."

Connor looks past the hand stopping him from kissing the fuck out of Oliver and down to the half-spilled bag of groceries on the floor. "You know I have no idea how to cook anything, right? That you're going have to teach me?"

Oliver smiles, teeth and everything, and it's like coming home. "Come on, I feel like scrambled eggs."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I think it all makes sense. Please tell me if it doesn't because this is basically two things I mashed together.
> 
> I don't own HTGAWM.


End file.
